


Kissed By a Rose

by nothingeverlost



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gaston the Rose, Not really a threesome, Other, Smut, Table Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-16
Updated: 2012-07-16
Packaged: 2017-11-10 01:49:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/460911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothingeverlost/pseuds/nothingeverlost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her clothes were gone.  Every last stitch of them, from the bodice to the pantaloons, had vanished.  All that touched her were the petals of the rose, caressing her breast.  </p><p>Yes, <i>that</i> rose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kissed By a Rose

“Is it magic?” 

“Pardon, dearie?” Rumpelstiltskin, just home from a deal, was at his spinning wheel. It’s the first thing he does, when he gets home from somewhere, and Belle has learned that the longer he sits there the more complicated or troubling the deal was. The ones he tells her about, the small loan for a baker about to lose his shop or the princess lost in the woods, require just long enough for her to make tea. Once he’d been summoned by a woman looking to bring back her dead child, and he’d still been at the wheel the next morning. Today, she can tell by the set of his shoulders and tone of his voice, it was a simpler deal. He’s restless, as he always is, but not upset.

“The rose. It’s been three weeks now, and not a petal has fallen. There’s no sign of wilting. Is the rose enchanted, or did you do something to the water?” Magic has been, until living in the Dark Castle, a thing mostly in stories or whispered tales around the fire in the kitchens. She’s curious to understand, if only a little, how it works.

“Would you rather it withered and died?” He was watching her. She could tell without looking at him, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck stand up as they do so frequently. He watches her often.

“I like it. It’s pretty.” And more importantly a gift from him, even if it had been given with barely a thought. She remembers the way he bowed as he presented it, each time she looks at the deep red bloom. The way she curtsied, and felt for a moment as if the whole world had vanished and it had just been the two of them.

“I like having pretty things in my castle.” His voice was almost a whisper and she turned, startled to find that he was standing just behind her. Unless she stepped to the side she was trapped between him and the table.

“So why do you keep those puppets around?” She’d tried moving them, once. The next day they’d been back in the same place; he hadn’t said anything but she knew better than to try again.

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, dearie. To someone those puppets might be the most precious thing in the world.” He had a glint in his eyes that told her there was a story behind his odd remark.

“Precious to you?” She was always curious, and though she’d once tried to bank her curiosity as it tended to make those around her shake their heads and comment about ‘too many books,’ she’d found that there was no reason not to ask questions of her sole companion. Rumpelstiltskin would either answer or he wouldn’t. His answers weren’t always illuminating, but there wasn’t any penalty to asking for one.

“Not at all. I’m just holding onto them until they prove useful. Many things here are transitory; only a few are for forever.” His hand was on her arm, running up and down in the same smooth pattern he used to spin the wheel. She wondered if he even noticed what he was doing.

“What happens if they never prove useful?” She drew her lower lip into her mouth, biting down on it. The moment the question was asked it she wished it unsaid. There was a part of her that was scared of the answer.

“Everything has it’s uses, Belle.” She drew in a breath as he moved closer, anticipation turning to confusion as he reached past her and plucked the rose out of its vase. He held it between them; as she looked at him she could see his eyes, but his mouth as hidden from view.

“Everything?” She wasn’t certain why her mouth was suddenly dry. She was not a blushing maiden any longer, not since the night she’d returned from the village with his straw. She knew enough now to recognize just what he had in mind. At least she thought she did.

“Everything.” The rose dipped and swayed, the petals brushing against her cheek. She meant to look down to see what he was doing, but it was too difficult to look away from his eyes. If she truly had forever in the Dark Castle it still might not be enough time to understand all that she saw behind his eyes.

She’d smelled the rose before, but as it ghosted over her lips she breathed in, for the first time, a hint of something more than a rose’s perfume. There was leather, cloves, and the tang of steel being sharpened. Odd. She dismissed it as the rose slid against her throat, the touch as light as a summer breeze. There was no way she could stop the involuntary shudder.

“The sun’s going down, Rumpelstiltskin. Would you walk me to my room?” It was the closest she’d come yet to blatantly inviting him to her bed. The first time he’d led her there himself. Since then he’d simply knocked on her door when she was already in her room.

“I don’t think so, pet.” 

“No?” Belle tried to tell herself that there was no reason to feel so suddenly lost, or to question his interest in her. Just because she’d read things wrong tonight didn’t mean she’d been relegated to another one of his collection, to sit around and gather dust.

“I don’t think we’re done here, yet.” She didn’t have a chance to ask what he meant before he flicked his hand with an elegant turn of his wrist, and her eyes widened.

“Rumpel _stilts_ kin!” Her clothes were gone. Every last stitch of them, from the bodice to the pantaloons, had vanished. All that touched her were the petals of the rose, caressing her breast. It was hardly decent, or fair. She hurried to try and cover herself the best she could with hands and arms. 

“I told you, Belle, that we weren’t done.” He used the rose to brush her hand from her breast in the same way she used a feather duster to clear away the dust. Not a single petal fell despite the swat; it must be magic, for she’s never known such a hardy rose. “There’s more to these things than bedrooms, and beds.”

“I was always taught that these things happen in a bed.” In a marriage bed, she’d been told from a young age, but she tried not to think about that. She didn’t like to think about the fact that no other man would want her now, and she really didn’t like to think about the fact that she wasn’t sure she even wanted another man, a normal life. It was hard to imagine any life, sometimes, other than this one.

She was glad that when he was touching her thinking wasn’t really an issue.

“These things happen anywhere you could imagine, and then some.” He pressed forward until she had no space without moving to sit on the edge of the table; from his grin she assumed that was what he wanted. “So many places, and so many ways.”

“Rum...” His voice was almost a physical touch, reverberating against her skin. The only thing that touched her, though, was the rose, tracing over each of her ribs in some pattern she couldn’t quite understand. It wasn’t enough.

“Close your eyes, dearie.” She tilted her head and studied him, but when she didn’t do as he asked the rose was pulled away and she was left without even that. She closed her eyes. “Good. Now no peeking unless I give permission, understand?”

“I understand.” Her agreement was enough to bring the silky softness of the rose back. This time, though, it was a tease. He touched her inner thigh, the underside of her breast, her cheek, her hipbone, the side of her knee. With her eyes closed there was no guessing where he was touching next, and barely enough time to feel the touch itself. She moaned a little, frustrated. 

“Need something?” His voice was not quite mocking, but something more than teasing.

“More.” She bit her lip before she could say anything else. Asking for things from Rumpelstiltskin could be unpredictable, and he had enough control already. Someday she’d love to be able to make him lose that tightly reined in control.

“What’s the magic word?” His voice was right next to her ear, but that seemed hardly possible when the rose was tickling her instep.

Every inch of her skin was screaming for his attention. She wiggled against the table, trying to find some relief, but the well polished wood offered her very little. “Please.”

“I think we might manage something.” His high pitched giggle wrapped around her like an old friend; she didn’t have the time or concentration to wonder when it had stopped being a thing to fear and become a comforting sound.

“Gods.” She cried out when he touch of a rose petal was suddenly everywhere. Magic word, he’d said, and she knew this had to be magic. She trembled, her arms giving way as she could no longer hold herself in the half reclined position. Her head did not bang against the table, though, but rather floated down as if pillowed by a cushion of air. Air that smelled of roses.

Her skin tingled, her fingers grasping for purchase at the sides of the table as she writhed and twisted, trying to feel more or trying to escape the feelings. Even breathing was difficult, air entering her lungs in almost painful gulps. 

“Please,” she said again, not a conscious choice but a deeper seated need.

“More?” 

“Not the rose. Please, I...” She gulped in more air, and felt for a moment as if her airway was choked with the perfume of the rose. “Not what I want.”

“And what do you want, dearie?” There’s smugness in his voice. He knew. He had to know, and still he made her say it. 

“You.” One hand abandoned the table. She reached out blindly, still keeping her word not to open her eyes until he asked.

He asked. Commanded. “Open your eyes.”

She blinked, her eyes readjusting from complete blackness to the dim light of the main hall, lit only by the blaze of a fire in the hearth. Rumpelstiltskin stood at the end of the table, between her legs, hands in constant motion but touching nothing, not even the rose. Certainly not her. His clothes were gone, probably with the same ease that hers had vanished; his skin shimmered in the firelight.

“No dream lover, or imagined prince. This is what you’re asking for, Belle.” His mouth was curled into one of his snide smiles. A protective smile, she’d learned; maybe he didn’t know as much as she thought he did.

“No prince. No rose.” Words were hard, but a better answer occurred to her. An easier one. She inched down the table a little more, her hips just inches from the edge, and spread her legs. An invitation that he couldn’t fail to understand.

“Belle.” There was a tremor in his voice that she’s never heard before. There was, however, no hesitation as he took her in one deep and swift thrust, stealing the air from her lungs. Everywhere that hadn’t been touched by the rose now felt filled with him.

His hands moved over her, never stopping, his touch not quite rough but far from gentle. Where her skin had tingled now it hummed. Everyplace the rose had touched he touched too. She wondered if it was on purpose; it was almost like he was trying to erase the gentler caress with his own textured skin fingers and smooth palms against her.

She didn’t want gentle. Not now, when she was so close to exploding and only _harder_ and _faster_ would do. “Please, more. Please?”

He kissed her, the first time that night, his mouth firm and demanding, his tongue plundering her mouth with the same rhythm she felt inside of her. His body pressed against her, the weight of him against her chest making her stomach twist and clench as she arched up against him, wanting more. Needing more.

She screamed her release against his mouth as she came, and barely noticed that he came when the whole world was spinning and grey.

“Better than any dream,” she muttered a few minutes later, when she could talk again. Despite the fact that they were on a table, the wood hard against her shoulder blade and her left leg going numb from hanging over the edge, she didn’t want to move. Rumpelstiltskin was still beside her; he’d yet to make any excuses to leave. He always left her bed before she fully regained her wits.

“Or rose?” He made it sound like a jest, but she solemnly nodded.

“Or a rose.” She shivered, perhaps from the cold or the aftershocks of the orgasm, but more likely a buildup of magic. A moment later they were both in her bed, no more dressed than before, but under blankets already warmed to the touch. Even better Rumpelstiltskin was still beside her.

“Rum?” She rolled onto her side, head pillowed on his shoulder. She hoped that he planned to stay at least until she slept.

“Yes, dearie?” His voice was pitched lower than usual. Almost gentle. Relaxed.

“You never answered my question. About the rose.” He’d done a fine job distracting her; she’d almost forgotten.

She waited, her eyelids growing heavy. It wasn’t until the next day when she picked up the rose from under the table that she half remembered his words on the cusp of her sleep.

“What else could a token from an old monster be, but magic?”


End file.
